


Missing You

by Probably_Not_Batman



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Missing You, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Not_Batman/pseuds/Probably_Not_Batman
Summary: If your matesprite was here he’d tease you for how easily you’d taken them down, offer strategies that might be taught to the AI to make things a little harder, convince you to spar with him to ease the stress you know he can still see held in your shoulders. He’d never been good with feelings or comfort, preferring to take a weapon to any problem he saw. But he couldn’t kill the stress that built up or what caused it when so much of that was yourself. So, when your morail wasn’t there he’d offer himself up in one of the only things he truly considered himself good at, time and time again though you rarely would take him up on it. Seadweller or not, fighter or not, you couldn’t risk that kind of slip up.But, you think you just might accept it now, because sparring with him would mean he was here.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Equius Zahhak, Nepeta Leijon & Equius Zahhak, Nepeta Leijon/Terezi Pyrope (mentioned)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun bit of equidan! I need to write more for this ship

Your name is Equius Zahhak and you have officially run out of robots to fight. The metal body is splayed out in front of you, the chest plate bent and split with wires catching on the torn metal. The whirring of the inner mechanisms sputters and fades like a dying breath, the block suddenly silent aside from your own labored breaths.

If your matesprite was here he’d tease you for how easily you’d taken them down, offer strategies that might be taught to the AI to make things a little harder, convince you to spar with him to ease the stress you know he can still see held in your shoulders. He’d never been good with feelings or comfort, preferring to take a weapon to any problem he saw. But he couldn’t kill the stress that built up or what caused it when so much of that was yourself. So, when your morail wasn’t there he’d offer himself up in one of the only things he truly considered himself good at, time and time again though you rarely would take him up on it. Seadweller or not, fighter or not, you couldn’t risk that kind of slip up.

But, you think you just might accept it now, because sparring with him would mean he was _here._

**> Equius: Distract Yourself**

That’s exactly what you were trying to do, but there’s no point in stopping the effort now you suppose. You grab a towel from your sylladex and wipe your face as you walk out of the block, kicking the final robotic body into the pile of similarly wrecked metal. The thought of fixing them crossed your mind, but that required a patience you just didn’t have at the moment.

There’s a brief pause at the stairs, a set going up and a set going down, before you turn and take the ones down quicker than was probably safe. The basement of your hive holds an expansive gym, including a shower area that you are currently hurrying toward. The water is quick to heat when you turn it on, rinsing the sweat from your body and stinging your hands. You look down, flexing your sore fingers open and examining the bruises mottling your knuckles.

The water isn’t clearing your head as much as you’d hoped, the heat doing nothing for the soreness settling in and the stinging only serving to remind you of the stress you’d been trying to fight away. The part of you that’s rational tells you that you should message Nepeta for the dozenth time tonight, but every message you attempt to compose sounds wrong. What are you supposed to say? You miss your matesprite? Her matesprite was a legislacerator who’d been off planet for the past sweep gathering recruits for a rebellion she could be culled for being part of and here you were whining about yours being called to a perigee or two of fleet training.

You sigh and shut off the water, resting your forehead on the tile for a moment longer than was necessary. Your palmhusk still showed nothing when you checked it, the robots and shower having barely any effect and leaving you with one option.

**> Equius: Call Your- **

You pull on some shorts, leaving a fresh towel and shirt on the bench at the edge of the gym. A workout would at least keep you busy as you counted sets, and with any luck you’d be tired enough by the end to just fall asleep. Sleep that would maybe force your brain to stop being ridiculous simply because it had gotten used to having him around.

You stretch, letting yourself feel every bit of soreness already there and only making sure you weren’t going to end up hurting yourself before you laid down on the bench-press and let all of your remaining brainpower go into not letting the bar crush your chest.

The pattern of the sets quickly becomes a comfortable rhythm, one that you follow until your hands are cramping and your arms are burning. You set the bar back in place and sit up, fishing a bottle from your sylladex and drinking about half before dumping the other half over your still damp hair. It isn’t clear if this actually helped or if you’d feel any better tomorrow, but at the very least everything from the night was finally dragging you into exhaustion.

Your eyes shut for a moment and you don’t fight the tiredness that’s quickly consuming you as you head for the stairs. You only notice something’s off when you grab your towel. The towel you put there is in your hands…but your shirt is nowhere to be seen. A frown crosses your lips, but just as you’re about to write it off a faint thump comes from one of the floors above you.

A quick check to your husk reveals no messages, so it’s quickly put away as you start up the stairs. The sounds of life only get louder as you climb the second staircase and when you see the pile of violet material left at the top of the stairs you quicken your pace. There’s a trail leading to your block, one you would have stopped to clean if you weren’t throwing your door open hard enough for a hinge to come loose.

And there he is.

He’s standing at the foot of the sleeping platform he’d insisted you get, though you rarely were able to sleep in it on your own, your missing shirt hanging just low enough on his shorter frame to cover his backside but not even beginning to cover his bare legs. His hair is longer than it was when you last saw him and you swear the scar on his jaw is new but you can’t really tell in the moment you allow yourself to take the sight in.

He’s here.

He’s _here_.

It takes you one, two, three strides to reach him, scooping him up so his face is level with yours and holding him close. He’s saying something but you don’t have time to catch up before his legs are around your waist and his lips are on yours.

Your back hits the soft platform and you pull him closer as his everything invades your senses. The smell of his ridiculously expensive but undeniably him soap replaces the oil and metal and sweat of yourself, spice and salt covering your tongue and the chill of his skin seeping into your hands. You want him to be closer, not loosening your grip when you break the kiss to breathe.

He laughs and tucks his head under your chin, wrapping his legs tighter around you. “Miss me?” his voice is light and teasing, and even though you don’t answer both of you know what you would have said. You let your relatively short claws run through his hair as your grip slowly relaxes and embarrassment tinges your euphoria.

“Apologies for my…intense reaction,” you mumble. “I haven’t even asked you how your trip was.” He lifts his head to look at you, a frown quick to cross his face but when he opens his mouth to no doubt scold you, you run a thumb over his lip and over the now clearly new scar on his jaw. “Or about this.”

You can feel his sigh against your hand before he sits up, seating himself on your chest. When you try to move, he puts his hands on your shoulders and firmly pins you against the pillows.

“Nope. You look like you haven’t slept in nights. You asked a question, right? So, you’re goin to stay there and I’m goin to talk.” You almost want to protest but the look he gives you makes the words die in your throat. His hands loosen but don’t move from your shoulders, instead gently squeezing and kneading at the tense muscle as he starts talking as promised. He complains about the new cadets, about the administration, mocking their frustration about the rebellion slipping under their noses. His hands moved the whole time, along your shoulders and chest and up your neck all the way to the beds of your horns.

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open by the time he stops, cold kisses ghosting along your neck as he curls to you once again. “…you’re callin Nep tomorrow-w or I’m draggin her here myself,” he tells you, and the waver you haven’t heard him have in sweeps suppresses any argument you could have even thought of.

“Sleep,” he orders, and you only take the time to wind your arms around him again before doing as you’re told. It doesn’t take long, with you only remaining awake long enough to hear one last whisper.

“I missed you too.”


End file.
